Posted on | 5 months ago, mid-afternoon | 5 Comments
It’s been a quiet handful of days, since the last post. We haven’t been back to the dog park yet, largely because the weather has been awful – which wouldn’t stop Greyson, God knows, but it stops us. Nasty weather means nothing to this dog, a fact which reinforces our suspicion that he’s half Pyrenees – the spawn of a tractor-trailer lot guard dog and … and … whatever else came along that day.
He’s got the Pyr’s thick, fluffy, slightly wavy coat – complete with manly chest and neck ruff; he sports the extra toes (his ‘double dews’); and he has that burly mountain-dog shape. As I keep telling people, he’s a perfect half-scale model of a really freaking big dog.
As of his vet visit a few weeks ago,* he was nine months old and 68 pounds. But seeing whereas he barfed rather copiously in the car on the way there, I’m comfortable bumping that up to an even 70.
Not sure how big he’ll be when he’s all grown up, but we have a pool going. My fiver says he’ll top out around 78-80 lbs. I suppose we shall see.
And because people have been asking, yes, Spain the Cat remains her spoiled, lazy little ol’ self. She’s perfectly tolerant of Greyson so long as he ignores her, and/or so long as we can’t see them. More than once, I’ve overheard them amicably playing whatever version of “tag” they find entertaining, off in the guest bedroom … only to have her start hissing at him the moment I poke my head in to see what’s going on.
I try to leave them alone, to sort these things out between themselves. She still doesn’t scratch him – she just soft-paws him when he oversteps his boundaries. He still tries to be her friend, though he (very) occasionally chases her around, steals her cheese crunchies, and helps himself to her food.
I think he only does the food thing because she’s never actually caught him at it.
She once caught him waiting for her outside the litter box, and now he knows damn good and well he’s not allowed into the laundry room, where the litter box sits. If he accidentally chases a toy into that forbidden space, he’ll sit outside and whimper until you come and help him. It doesn’t matter if the cat’s asleep under the bed at the other end of the house … she is the cat. And somehow she knows.
Anyway, here’s my favorite recent picture of the two of them. I told Greyson to say “cheese.” This is the face he always makes when he hears the word “cheese.”
As for me, and what I’ve been up to … the answer is mostly just “work.” Since my last post I made some cookies (with some modest, if relative success) and packaged them up for a few neighbors and the mailman, answered some email interviews, conducted a bunch of long-distance business, and got to work on the Fiddlehead edits.
The edits are kind of kicking my ass, so my blogging may remain sporadic through the new year. If you’re that desperate to keep up with my drinking, cat and dog pictures, video game musings, links, and announcements, you’ll want to follow me on Twitter.
All the cool stuff turns up on Twitter first. (And usually, but not always, ends up cross-posted to my FB page.)
It’s just so much easier than blogging. It’s less like sitting down and trying to think of a few pithy paragraphs … and more like yelling at a movie screen after a pair of martinis.
So in closing, here’s a short video of Spainy bogarting one of the dog beds. Firmly. Happily. In a sunbeam.
Because when in doubt (or when in search of a closing thought) … kitty.
* To address a minor skin condition and get a ‘scrip for doggie Dramamine, natch.